


Open-Ended Poems

by princehurley



Category: Cobra Starship
Genre: Coffe shop AU, College AU, In a way, M/M, art school au, poet!gabe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 03:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4731110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princehurley/pseuds/princehurley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>art school au where gabe is a struggling poet who is infatuated with a guy in a cafe</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open-Ended Poems

Gabe hated a lot of things. He hated waking up on Wednesdays, the way the sun would creep into his dorm room at 5am, the sound of shuffling feet, and people who don’t know when to let a conversation die. But Gabe decided that he hated the color white the most. White was the color of blank pieces of paper, coffee that was way too sweet, snow that piled up on Brooklyn streets, and most of all, his smile. 

Every time Gabe saw him smile, he wanted to capture his essence. He seemed so carefree, so pure. His smile made him want to write the world’s longest poem solely about this guy, this random guy. But when he would go to write, his pen would stop working. There was just too many things to say and Gabe could not find the words to say it. This guy made his insides twists and his nerves feel like battery acid. He was on edge, in the best way possible. Gabe was never one to believe in the idea of soulmates or true love (he had done too much research on it) but this guy made him want to discredit everything science had to say. Each afternoon after classes, he’d make his way down to a little cafe on 42nd street in the hopes of seeing him. He’d order a coffee that was too sweet and try to formulate what he was feeling into words. 

Instead of writing, Gabe spent most of his time fighting off the gravitational need to pull closer to him. The guy seldom came in alone, always with another guy. From their shared smiles and fleeting touches, Gabe assumed they were together. With every round of footsie they played, Gabe wanted to switch places with the other one so badly. He wanted to make him laugh. He wanted to see what was behind his sketchbook. He wanted to buy him tea and tug on his ridiculous oversized sweaters. He wanted to be with him. 

But like every great poet, this was a case of unrequited love. He could write volumes about how his life is so incomplete without him, but he couldn’t bring himself to ever write directly about him. The guy with messy hair, lanky limbs, and paint smudged on his cheek was always in his mind, but never on the page. Gabe thought that his words would never be able to do him justice. There was just something about him that Gabe could only hope to capture one day. 

As Gabe sat in the back of the cafe, he held his breath as the guy walked in. He was alone. Gabe felt a sinking feeling in his gut, his body switching into fight or flight. Was this his chance? Could he do it? He slowly pushed his chair away from the table and fixed his hair in the reflection of the mirror. He took a breath; but as quick as he came, the guy picked up his order and left. Defeated, Gabe sat and penciled down a few stanzas about how lilacs always seem to fade in the winter. 

The cycle continued for weeks. Each day Gabe would leave with his hopes much lower than when he walked in. But he still kept coming in nonetheless. After a while, it became easier and easier to write about the guy. It wasn’t that Gabe thought that he could properly capture him. It was more that Gabe was starting to see the guy as a person rather than a fantasy. He accepted the reality. He could write about reality. It’s so much harder to write about something that is only manifested in your own head. 

It took almost a full year for the guy to finally sit down in the cafe. His hair was messier than usual, dark locks sticking up from all angles. His skinny legs were propped up on a chair, proudly displaying red boots that matched his red crop top. For a second, Gabe laughed, thinking that this guy was the epitome of art students. With bated breath, Gabe waited for him to get up and leave. He waited for the guy to pick up his sketch book and leave nothing but his image in Gabe’s mind. But he never did. 

Letting go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding, Gabe walked over to the guy. The room was spinning and he felt every eye on him as he walked across the cafe. With no explanation, he handed the guy his poem, feeling that the world was about to implode. The guy’s eyebrows went up in confusion at first, but slowly, a blush started to spread across his face. In scrawled handwriting, Gabe had written:

I am another poet  
Drinking black coffee and  
Pretending that I like the taste  
Of nicotine and regret   
On my tongue. 

The world is a series of stories  
In which the plots have all  
Been used before.   
Humans share 99% of their genes.   
It is impossible to be  
An original. 

Yet when I look at you  
It feels like something scientists  
Haven’t studied before. 

My poetry is all the same   
A different arrangement   
Of twenty six letters  
Because I can’t find  
An original definition of the damn phrase  
“I Love You”. 

The guy let out a sigh and muttered a weak “wow”. Silence fell between the two and Gabe had never wanted to run out of place faster in his life. 

“Are..are you serious about this?” the guy asked, fidgeting in his seat. Gabe nodded and rubbed a hand across his neck. He felt so small. 

“Well, it’s an awesome poem. Mind if I keep it?”

“It’s all yours.” replied Gabe, wincing internally at how shaky his voice sounded. He had imagined there meeting thousands of times before. Gabe had expected fireworks and music, not awkward silences and sweaty palms. 

“I’m Ryland, by the way.”

Ryland. He already loved the way his name felt on his lips. 

“Hey, I’m Gabe”.

“Well Gabe” Ryland said with a smile, reaching over to place a hand over Gabe’s, “You wanna go out Friday night?”

Finally.


End file.
